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the roulette of solitude
poetry [ ]
de Cristina Ispas [Fata verde]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
by [mihamax ]

2004-09-01  |   

Literary Translation - Translations of classic and original poetry and other materialsThis text is a follow-up  | 



I was playing with the feeling of springtime – when
too mellow of love I was falling beside you
the only one that’s carefully writing his testimonial
I’ll stick to your shadow changing nothing
I love you – this is a feeling with
I’ll flirt a little longer, dear tree

I was playing with the feeling of spingtime and
crying in right line
my walking on cerebral spheres
was waving together musical lights
numbers, flavours of colours
it raised my body skating between cold tranquil spangles
lost in the nid of birds blowed at the stained glass
on your ribs drowned by leaves

I was secretly blinking my eye on you
revealing for you, a feathery rounding of my breast
a fine high-essed shoe, discreetly moment
then I was starting again, naturaly, the whole part
glued white with my chest on his shoulder
to bear you luck

I was playing with the feeling of spingtime – when
my skin was spinning sizzle beyong the axes of the game
with your pulse centering bored diamond and saphires -
I was hanging them pandatives in my heart
You – were crushing through your teeth the left kernel of my soul
bending waves on my temple
the beaten roads of the falling from cristina into submission

everything was careless twisting in my mind – when
a beak like a lighting blade stuck into my back
I opened myself
in a rounded scream up till my bones
with my poems dancing among convulsions
for the rain of your eyes

I was pulling along my too short skirt
I was triggering the decolletage of whispers
they exploded inside the burgeons at the door
of my soul
drifted from the root your eye was spearing itself
saving, closing to the light

I was spinning at luck your feelings on the retina
one evening –when
I was playing with the thought of spingtime – invincible
foreign
alone

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